


reflection and refraction

by dancer4813



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Drinking with friends, Everyone is recovering, Pike misses sailing, Spoilers for Episodes 85/86, Tal'dorei Campaign, vague Moana references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10050368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancer4813/pseuds/dancer4813
Summary: It’s her second night in Emon, and while sitting on the docks she is joined by a familiar figure, blue robes gliding smoothly across wooden planks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third iteration of trying to finish this fic, as it was technically started for CritRole RS Week on tumblr... oh, a month ago now? Yeah... but I like how it turned out in the end - hope you do too!
> 
> I really like that I stumbled across some sailing colloquialisms for Pike to use. ^_^

Pike spends her days healing the sick, repairing homes and reuniting families - generally being the light that people need to see in the ashen aftermath of Thordak’s reign. She works with Kima in the temples, and helps Allura with some of her duties. Pike assists those who have no coin to spare, and, every so often, makes rounds of the city streets, simply looking for tasks that need doing.

(she knows that recovery is a slow process, that it can take days, weeks, months, years, for any full restoration to be found, and she ~~wants~~ needs to stay busy)

Pike spends her evenings at the port, watching the sun set over distant waves with a strange longing in her heart. When the ball of light finishes sinking below the horizon she closes her eyes and smells the scent of salt on the air, feels the breeze on her face. She remembers the freedom and immensity of the ocean, the unendingness of the expanse, but also the forgiving nature of the rolling waves, where one can sail for days and find nothing but water and sky and horizon.

(part of her wants to feel that openness, wants to jump on the fastest ship she can find and catch up to them, but she has settled herself in Emon once again, and she can’t bring herself to leave, not so soon after… everything)

It’s her second night in Emon, the third since she’d drunk herself into a stupor with Vax, the second since a blond man who was too tall and too opulent for words strutted into Whitestone alongside her friends, and while sitting on the docks she is joined by a familiar figure, blue robes gliding smoothly across wooden planks.

“Allura,” she greets, carefully keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sun is close to disappearing for the day.

(she tells herself she does not want to miss its passing)

“Pike,” Allura replies, sitting down next to her and propping up what looks to be a bottle of whiskey between them. “Would you care for a drink?”

Pike opens her mouth, fully intending to accept the offer, but her throat catches and her heart seems to seize and she can’t say anything for a long moment, except:

“Maybe after the sunset?”

(part of her longs for the burning she knows it will bring to her throat, while another part of her knows that the warmth it carries is not the kind she’s looking for and desperately craving these days)

“I can wait,” Allura says, and together they sit in silence save for the rush of waves against the shore and early evening work crews finishing their jobs before heading home. The men and women chatter and joke and argue about which tavern to take an evening meal at - the one still standing, or that which was destroyed with dragonfire weeks prior.

Pike watches the sun and tries to forget, drowning herself in the rapidly descending sphere.

(part of her wonders if she should force herself to blink, as her eyes can't seem to be drawn from the shimmering orb,

It doesn’t take long for the sun to disappear below the horizon, leaving only smears of dark orange and red painted below an inky midnight blue expanse where stars are starting to peek through.

Red sky at night, sailors delight, Pike thinks to herself, memories of voices speaking the phrase echoing a chorus in her head.

(there are several tunes and colloquial sayings that have stuck with her for the past year or so, ever since departing the Broken Howl to find her land legs again, and she surprises herself sometimes with how quickly they return to the front of her mind)

Pike finds herself staring at the stars that have started to appear, and she gazes at them for a long while, imagining the pictures Papa Wilhand had always pointed out to her in her youth. She’d told the same stories to Grog when they would spend nights out in the fields, never returning home until late, and she would point out the pictures she could see, though he never seemed to see them in quite the same way.

“I have cups, if you’d like a drink,” Allura says, breaking Pike out of her thoughts.

Looking down, Pike sees a fine bottle of whiskey with a familiar label, and she remembers the smoothness from what feels like decades ago.

(she wonders where Allura got such a bottle, what with the city-wide destruction, but doesn’t feel the need to ask)

Pike looks up and meets Allura’s eyes, which are neither pitiful nor concerned, and she nods, a not-quite-smile pulling at her lips.

“This is a good one,” she says, and she feels her lips quirk as Allura seems to produce two fine wine glasses from nowhere, opening the bottle of liquor and pouring a decent measure into each.

“So I’ve heard,” Allura replies, handing Pike a glass and lifting her own into the air. “Shall we toast to something, or get a little buzzed first?”

Pike downs her helping of the drink in response, appreciating the gentle burn down her throat even as Allura chuckles. She holds out her glass for more, and Allura (after downing the contents of her own glass) fills it full almost to the brim, then repeats the motion with her own cup.

“To no more Conclave,” Allura proposes, and Pike raises her own glass, then sips obediently, holding the drink in her mouth for a moment to appreciate the flavor. There's a hint of apple amidst the berries in this particular bottle, but it's the same drink Vox Machina had shared during their first meal all together at the newly-finished Greyskull Keep.

She remembers returning to Emon on the Broken Howl and wandering back to the Keep around midday, only just peeking into the temple before her name was shouted and Keyleth picked her up and spun her around in a hug. Keyleth was quickly followed by Grog, and then everyone else in a row, and Gilmore had been invited over for dinner and he’d brought the whiskey as a housewarming present.

(she remembers that they drank all of the liquor in one night, but that was nearly two years ago, and things were very different back then)

Pike thinks she should make a toast, that it’s her turn, and she looks up to the sky, where more and more stars are peeking out from behind a black veil.

“To the sea,” she says, lifting her cup high as her gaze follows the sky down to where it meets the sea’s water, still glowing from the setting sun.

“To the sea,” Allura murmurs in echo, raising her own glass.

They take a sip together.

Allura takes a long time thinking about her next toast, long enough that Pike glances up at her and sees the arcanist swirling her whiskey in the cup, watching the liquid rise and fall on the sides of the glass.

(she remembers that Scanlan used to preach about swirling your wine before drinking it, to “release the flavor”, and remembers Percy’s pained smile coupled with an affirming nod)

Pike swirls her own glass and inhales deeply, picking up scents of walnut and oak as she does so.

“To living,” Allura says finally, and Pike can’t not drink to that.

She lifts her glass in the air again and sips from it once more, the taste more complex on her tongue, though she’s not sure if the alcohol is getting to her or if it’s actually because she swirled the drink in her cup.

“To friends,” Pike says quickly, before her throat can close on the words.

She empties the remainder of the glass as she drinks, and she sits there for a moment, glass in hand. She finds herself biting her lip, blinking back tears for a moment, and once again she’s not sure if she can attribute her feelings to the alcohol.

(she’s sure it’s just the alcohol getting to her - that’s it, no harm done)

A deep breath of salty air clears her thoughts.

Looking up to Allura, she sees the taller woman carefully studying the waters in front of them, lowering her glass after taking a long, slow drink.

Allura’s cup is also empty, Pike notices.

(she remembers that not everyone has been as lucky as Vox Machina - Kerrek’s comments were proof enough of that)

Pike waits a moment for Allura to come back to herself, but it takes a little too long, and Pike grabs the now-half-full bottle of whiskey and pours a generous amount into each cup.

Allura blinks at the horizon, and Pike stares off as well, feeling a creeping unease as the silence draws on. She’s never felt as unsure of herself as she’s sure Keyleth does, but she’s never been particularly confident in her words like Percy, or Vex, or… others…

So she keeps her mouth shut, swirling the whiskey in her glass and taking another small sip, wetting her lips with the bright taste.

“Where’s Kima?” Pike asks, wincing as curiosity takes control of her tongue for a moment.

“Around,” Allura replies simply.

Pike chances another glance up to Allura’s face and she sees the hint of a smile, which is ridiculously, wonderfully comforting.

“I thought she might want some whiskey,” Pike says, flicking the side of the glass so a note rings out.

(it’s just one note, and it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it might)

“She was helping people tear down some ruined homes, last I saw,” Allura says, glancing over her shoulder to the town. “But she promised to make dinner tonight, so I’m giving her a head start, and thought I might enjoy some company while I’m at it.”

Pike feels a bit of a weight off her chest at that statement, and she grins at the thought of Kima cooking - doing anything so domestic, really.

“Is Kima a good cook then?” she asks, and she turns to Allura, not feeling quite as drawn to the endless sea as she had been.

“Gods no,” Allura says with a laugh, snorting a bit. “She tries, she really does, bless her, but for all the martial skills and magic she learns at the temple of Vord, cooking is not high on their list of things for their paladins to know.”

Pike grins at that, and the small, unintentional movement is freeing in an entirely different way than the vast sky above them and the waters beyond.

“So what does Kima know how to cook?”

“Oh, she can put together a rather nice stew,” Allura says, leaning back on one hand, the other swirling her drink before she takes another sip. “And her bread rolls are actually quite nice. But anything more complicated than that is a bit of a disaster. Oh, I remember the time that she tried to surprise me with a pie and she almost burnt down my tower.”

“Your magical, stone tower?” Pike asks, trying to find some clarification.

“That’s the one,” Allura says, turning to look down at Pike, still relaxed into the hand supporting her from behind. “It turns out that the sugar looked a bit too much like some of my alchemical ingredients - which are on a different shelf from my baking supplies, mind you - but she was quite close to blowing up my whole home.”

“At least you managed to save it?”

“Oh yes, I caught her before she actually put the pie in the oven, when the concoction would have caught fire and potentially incinerated her.”

“Lucky,” Pike says, the grin back on her face.

“Indeed,” Allura says, a wry smile on her lips.

(she wants to ask why and how and what for and if, but she’s too scared and too much of a coward and imposition is something she’s hyper-aware of right now, and she’s not sure if she can-)

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Allura asks, and Pike blinks for a moment, wondering if that was her imagination, or if Allura can potentially read minds.

“I-I wouldn’t want to-”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to eat in Greyskull all by yourself, either,” Allura states plainly.

Pike has never been so happy to have a decision made for her.

“I suppose then, if you don’t think Kima would mind…”

“She won’t,” Allura says, surety bolstering her words. “And she always makes enough for a battalion. You might as well come and save us from needing to keep leftovers or throwing out the extras.”

Pike opens her mouth, closes it, and pushes aside the bead of lingering doubt in her chest by breathing in another lungful of briny sea air.

“I’d be happy to join you,” she says instead, then takes a swig from her cup to feel that fortifying burn course through her. “Though I suppose we should save the rest of the bottle for her? Just to be fair?”

Allura grins. “If she drank that whole third of a bottle herself she’d be well on her way to being completely sloshed.”

“Ah, three sheets to the wind?” Pike asks, the phrase coming to her from the deep recesses of her memory.

When Allura looks intrigued and mildly confused, however, she clarifies.

“A sailor’s term,” she says, gesturing to one of the nearby boats, though none are quite as large as the Broken Howl was. “When someone started losing their sea legs after one too many drinks they tended to behave much like the sails with a strong wind behind them.”

Allura laughs, loud and clear. “Three sheets to the wind sounds like an apt turn-of-phrase,” she agrees, raising her glass.

Pike toasts with her and they both down the remainder of their whiskey together.

“I think it’s been enough time - shall we check in with Kima?” Allura asks, though she doesn’t make an effort to pick herself up off the dock.

Pike looks out at the waves, the water, the sky, the stars, and then turns back to the arcanist, holding out her empty glass.

Allura takes it and uses Prestidigitation to clear the last couple of drops of whiskey from the inside of both glasses, then stores them away in what Pike is sure is a bag of holding.

“No time like the present,” Pike says, getting up, and Allura smiles, picking herself up and dusting herself off with the highest decorum

“Then let’s be on our way,” Allura says, corking the bottle of whiskey and storing it away as well. “The sooner we can get back, the sooner we can all be drunk together.”

“Well said,” Pike says with a nod, walking in step with Allura as they start to head back through the rebuilding city, masked by dusk, to the temple district. It's there where Kima and Allura are renting a house that’s abandoned, but still standing, a couple streets down from the temple of Sarenrae.

Just before they step out of view of the pier, Pike has a thought and she turns back, imagining her friends on a ship, their first night at sea (at least, most of them).

“Fair winds and a following sea to you,” she says, and Sarenrae willing her quiet words will carry however far Vox Machina has already travelled.

And, content for the moment, Pike nods and turns back to follow Allura, warmth buzzing through her veins and a pleasant hum lingering in her mind.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see me recommend fanfics, cry with me about the cast and NPCs alike, or watch me spaz out during the episodes check out my main blog: [dancer4813](http://www.dancer4813.tumblr.com), or my writing tumblr: [dancerwrites](http://www.dancerwrites.tumblr.com).


End file.
